


Conquer the Need

by chibiwriter



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibiwriter/pseuds/chibiwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”.</p><p>Played around with the lead-up to Bull and Dorian's first night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conquer the Need

Pressed up against the stonewall, robes asunder, barely getting enough breath to think much less ponder the absurdity of the situation. Large hands, far too large, were roughly trailing along his body in maddening, electrifying strokes. Was it the ale? No, want. Desire. _Need_.

That is what the Bull had said, yes? He knew what Dorian _needed_ , knew what would make all the tension within himself flee, allow him to feel something else. Live, again, in the sense that the darkness of the days did not allow.

To be fair, part of the tension that had ridden on his shoulders was Bull’s fault. The teasing, the flirting, the inappropriate jokes and comments and _looks_. Dorian was used to being fawned over - he wasn’t blind to his own appeal. But to be _leered_ at, a single glittering eye following him on missions and across the courtyard that left him wanting, a dark heat settling in his gut when he dared to meet that gaze. Now _that_ was almost torture.

Dorian gasped from a stray touch, breathy and high, and Iron Bull _growled_. The sound alone was enough to send a sharp jolt of arousal through him, left him quivering, and he himself left out a feral noise and pulled the Qunari down harder. By the horns.

 _I **would** conquer you_.

How long had those words run in his head? He’d acted flustered, offended even, at the time. Acted as though the idea hadn’t appealed to him in the slightest despite that being the farthest thing from the truth. His nights alone were _miserable_ because of it. Twisted sheets, little cries of frustration. He was no stranger to lust, but in this instance it was so powerful it almost bowled him over.

Iron Bull pulled back slightly, only to tilt the mage’s head up and start attacking his throat. Dorian felt dizzy, fevered as a broad tongue swept out to taste his skin. A deep noise emanated from the Bull’s chest, pleased. The mage traded his hook on the Qunari’s horns to claw at his back and tug at his belt, thick leather harsh against his fingertips.

A chuckle caught Dorian’s attention, followed by a sharp bite to his neck. Bull had to bend down to catch the skin of his throat in his teeth, but it did not seem to bother him in the slightest. The mage could only pant against the Quanri’s ear, muttering occasionally in Tevene. He noticed a shiver from the other man when he let a particularly colorful curse in his native language and it occurred to him at last that Bull might find his voice, his mother tongue, _arousing_.

Eager to test this theory, the mage pressed closer and moaned a fantastically dirty explicative against the swell of the Qunari’s shoulder. It’s not difficult - he was being painfully pleasurable with his mouth at the mage’s neck. But the reaction is instantaneous. A shudder and a dark noise, pressed into the flesh of his neck in a way that had him biting his lip from making further embarrassing noises.

His precaution was for naught. A large knee was thrust against his crotch and Dorian couldn’t help the low, guttural cry that escaped him. Iron Bull echoed the noise back to him when the mage’s hands clutched harshly, blunted nails digging into the rough flesh of his back.

“Easy there, Adaar.” the large Qunari intoned, backing away so they could look at each other. Dorian was suddenly aware how very disarrayed his robes were and how very cool the night air was. The Bull certainly seemed to enjoy the view.

“Say, Dorian.” Bull said conversationally, still looming over the mage, still smelling like musk and sweat and _desire_. “Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“I- what?” Dorian couldn’t hear much over the blood that continued to rush south. “Surely this isn’t the time for bravado!”

Iron Bull chuckled, eye sparkling in the light of the moon. “Oh, it’s not bravado - as you’ll soon find out.” He pressed in closer and Dorian tried to suppress a shiver of excitement that went up his spine. “But only after we set some rules.”

“Rules.” His voice was disbelieving and calm, despite the panting. Dorian was rather proud of that.

The Qunari shrugged, a large hand trailing fingertips against Dorian’s side. “A watchword, at least.”

“A watchword.” he said, frustration coloring his voice. The other man watched him closely for a short second. Then grinned in such a way that Dorian’s breath caught.

Iron Bull leaned in, dropping his voice as if to allude to conspiracy. “Parshaara.”

Dorian blinked. “Parshaara?”

“Is there an echo in here?” Bull asked cheekily, shifting so they were closer and their breaths could begin to mingle. The mage had to swallow harshly, combating the urge to kiss the insufferable grin off the man’s face. “That’s your watchword. Say that, and we stop. No questions asked.”

He searched the Qunari’s face for a moment. “Will I need to? Use it, that is.”

Iron Bull’s manner lost its humor and became disconcertingly serious.”I will never hurt you without your permission. You will always be safe.”

The seriousness of his tone told Dorian that he’d need to consider this proposal carefully. The lingering wooziness of the ale from earlier in the evening wasn’t helping, nor was the deep ache that had settled in his lap. He was no fool. He knew of pain-play and ropes and the wondrous burn of letting everything go and just finding contentment with _being_ and _being needed_.

“Oh, to the void with it.” he bit out, pulling the Qunari down into a vigorous kiss. He faintly heard a snicker and retaliated with a quick nip to Bull’s bottom lip. Without warning he was flipped and pushed back against the wall, gasping, cool stones rough against his face.

Iron Bull pressed in close and Dorian couldn’t help but struggle. Somehow the other man was able to wrap one large hand around both of his wrists and hold them fast against his own vertebra. His stomach flopped when he felt the other hand trace along his thigh, utterly helpless and _electrified_ by it already.

Harsh breathing, rapid heartbeat. “Is this what you want?” Bull’s tone was quiet, still slightly unsure. Dorian growled, cursed, and grew still for him. There was a pause, the Qunari giving him one last chance and the mage torn between pride and desire.

“It is what I _need_ , yes?”

A chuckle, hand tightening around his wrists teasingly.

“Good answer.”

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt a friend sent me. Originally posted to my Tumblr.
> 
> From the Dragon Age Wiki:  
> Adaar: A ship-mounted cannon, literally "fire thrower". Can be used to describe a Mage.  
> Parshaara: "Enough".


End file.
